I packed light and spent 18 months on the road, homeless but at home. Lost but unable to be lost because I had no destination. I arrived in new cities every morning, scraped coins to afford coffee and then tried to find the busiest venue in town where I begged to get to play a set or two. If I was lucky I sold albums enough to afford the train the next day. If I was luckier I could afford whiskey and if I was a god damn star I got some tip from the sound-guy. You read and write and sing and experience, thinking that one day these things will build the character you admire to live as. You love and lose and bleed best you can to the extreme, hoping that one day the world will read you as the poem you want to be. One day, things will change and you will not have to struggle every day to convince people that you and your art is good enough. One day, you will simply be able to be you, and be okay with that.